Lullaby Girl (36 page)

I want to smash my head into the wall. To return to those empty, painless days. But I have no choice now. Only one future is left open, and that is to run. Because if they send me to Dundee, the newspapers will report it. If the newspapers report it, my mum’s killers will find me. And if they find me, I’m as good as dead.

From here, the floor looks like it’s made from paper. I rise to my knees and survey the damage. The fan guy’s keyring crunches under my hand, and as I sit back to peel it away I see the fob is shaped like a record. Grooved on one side, with a hole in the middle and everything.
Vinyl Vultures!
it says on the little record label. I chuck it back into the carnage. Only then do I notice the manila folder. It’s the same file Rhona brought to my room. I gaze at it with dead eyes. Then I crawl forwards and open it. The first thing I see makes me jump in the air.

Dagbladet!

I take a deep breath. It’s the front page of a Norwegian newspaper. Or, rather, a photocopy of it. On the edge, someone has written a message in English:
Here is largest ‘Hans’ story for requested time period. Perhaps this helps? With friendly greetings /Jorunn
.

Horrified, I run my eyes down the page. There are no photographs of his face, but that hardly matters. I’d recognise that wooden house anywhere.
Narkobaron Dødsgåte
, blares the headline in thick black letters.
Drug Lord Death Riddle
. None of the report has been translated yet, though Rhona has jotted several annotations in the margin.

Same Lina as in transcripts?

Blue house (!!!)

20km north of Oslo
.

I speed-read the article, without managing to take much in. The date on the newspaper is 13th Mar, 2006.

Suddenly, a peripheral movement catches my eye.

‘I can’t even …’ says a voice. Crystal hard.

I turn round. Our eyes lock. Stillness descends.

Rhona’s face is ghostly. Verging on blue in the pre-dawn light. Her hands wobble at her sides. Slowly, and with great effort, she waggles a finger in the air.

‘Get back upstairs,’ she gurgles. ‘Before I do something I regret!’

I remain where I am. Stuck to the floor. Rhona’s eyes bulge.

‘I said MOVE! Right this minute!’

I cannot move. But not out of fear. Inside me, a vast anger is growing. Pushing on my insides. Swelling higher, wider, until it covers everything. I get to my feet. From here, Rhona looks small.

‘I’m leaving.’

‘What?’ coughs Rhona. ‘What did you say?’

My throat dries up. Rhona steps forward. I flinch as she grabs my arm.

‘Now!’

‘No!’

I yank my arm away and Rhona tumbles to her knees. She shoots a hand out and manages to steady herself.

‘Traitor!’ I hiss.

Rhona’s face twists. ‘
Traitor?
How am I a traitor? I’ve done
everything
for you!’

‘You said you’d look after me, but—’

‘For God’s sake, Kathy!’

‘How long have you had this?’ I demand, waving the newspaper extract.

‘I’ve busted a
gut
for you! How
dare
you—’

I move for the door, but Rhona blocks my path.

‘You blew your last chance for me to protect you!’ she spits. ‘
No one
will help you if you keep fighting!’

‘I’m not fighting!’

‘Then testify! Tell the police what Hans—’

‘I can’t!’

‘Why the hell not?!’

‘Because he’s dead!’

Silence rings out. Rhona looks at the report in my hand.

‘So that’s him?’ she asks.

I nod.

‘Well then, what are you so worried about? If someone already killed the guy, there’s no way he can hur—’

‘
I
killed him.’

Rhona jolts. We stare at each other. I hear her breathing in little short gasps, like sobs.

‘What?’ she says.

But I can no longer look at her.

‘Tell me what you just said!’

She grabs for my arm, but I shove her away. A weight drags on my arm, and I realise Rhona has fallen to the floor. I stand over her, horrified by the look in her eyes.

‘Kathy …’ she starts, and trails off. For a second I see a flash of fear. Then she gets up, and says, ‘Please. Just trust me.’

‘I’m leaving.’

‘No you’re not, and we both kn—’

‘Get
off
!’

I pull my arm away, but this time she’s ready. I gasp as her fingers tighten.

‘No!’ I cry. ‘No! No!’

Rhona’s face is inches from my own. For the first time I see her tears. They’re all over her face.

‘I’m sick of it,’ she shudders. ‘I’m sick of you fighting me.’

I struggle. I flex what muscles I have. I go limp and try to dodge away. But it’s no good. She’s behind me every step of the way. In desperation, I swing a fist and manage to clip her chin. Rhona inhales.

We sway. Then straighten. Then she has hold of my right arm too.

‘Joyce was right!’ she thunders. ‘You’re
never
going to get better!’

These words deliver the death blow. I fold to my knees, tears streaming from my eyes.

‘How could you?’ I weep. But my words are barely audible. Rhona walks past me, decisively, and with horror I realise she’s heading for the panic button. I look up. This is my last chance.

Gathering all my strength, I leap onto Rhona’s back. We tumble forwards, through the spilled soil of the yucca plant. Then I lunge again. In a second, I’m on top of her. My left hand comes free. On the floor beside us is Rhona’s glass globe. Cold, and solid, and even heavier than I’d imagined. In one swift movement, I bring it down on Rhona’s head. She raises an arm. But too late.

#

I’d forgotten about the perimeter gate. I stand on the gravel track, cowed by its silent authority. I am not allowed to go through the perimeter gate. That rule is hardwired through me. The bars are not electrified or anything. I know that. And there aren’t any spikes, or cameras. But it’s tall. And I am not allowed.

Afraid, I turn back towards Gille Dubh. I can just see its outline against the sky. My home. What am I doing?

The wind musses my hair. Shivering, I grip the beige folder to my chest.

No. That life has gone. I’ll never have that again.

My whole body is shaking. I take a breath. Chuck the folder through the bars. Then I tuck my pyjama legs into my socks and start to climb. The hard red rust hurts my palms. As I hoist myself over the top a rough bit catches my sleeve, and I tumble backwards. For a second I dangle by one arm, kicking against the railings. Then the cloth rips. I land on my side in a hail of gravel, and something sharp punches the air from me. I roll and gasp. My hand is sticky with blood. It takes several seconds to compose myself.

How long will it take for them to find Rhona? How long till they sound the alarm?

I hurry down the road we took on Mary’s day, legs swaying crazily under my weight. Ahead of me, there’s a junction. It’s not signposted, but I know which way to go. Downhill, the loch twinkles at me. The place where all of this will end.

Mary, I’m coming back to the place where I should have stayed. I will lower myself, singing, into the surf, and this time they will not drag me out. We will drift away from the world of men. Into the Gulf Stream, into the clouds. And I will sing my song for you.

The sun is rising higher.

How stupid of me to trash Rhona’s office! If I hadn’t done that, they might not have checked on me until five. I’d have had hours to get away. But now. My God … They’ll be down here with a
cage
. The papers will have a field day.

I run in the middle of the road. My shoes clatter.

Out of nowhere, my heart fills with Tim. The pain is unbearable. I rejected him as I did Rhona, and in return he abandoned me. He never even came to get his car. I never heard a thing about that car, now I come to think of it. It’s something even the police seemed to miss. But I can’t blame Tim. He has his own life. By now, he’ll be a dad.

So many houses. It makes me nervous. I don’t remember seeing so many houses the last time. The closer I get to the water, the more houses there are. Each one full of people, with watchful eyes and gossiping mouths. Is it obvious I’m from Gille Dubh? I covered my pyjamas with a cardigan I found in the porch. And these are Rhona’s shoes, so I’m not barefoot. But I don’t know what kind of clothes the outside people wear. Maybe I’m horribly outdated. Maybe only nutters wear cardigans and leather shoes these days.

Finally I reach the seafront and conceal myself in the shadows beside the inn. To my right, there’s a garden edged with palm trees. Downhill, the sea. The beige folder is growing cumbersome and I know I should leave it behind. But the news report is too tantalising, so I kneel on the ground and do my best to read it. Lina’s name catches my eye – circled with red pen in several places – and I focus my attention on these parts. This is when I make my discovery.

Lina is missing. That’s what that word means, isn’t it? I struggle to remember.

Yes. That’s definitely right.
Hair stylist Lina Tarasevi
i
t
. Concerns for … safety. Family … reported … her missing. Drugs (something) uncovered … 100 kilos of cocaine found … at property. Fifteen stolen passports found. Suspected (gang?) killing. Police investigating
.

My skin goes cold. I swallow. Desperately, I read further. But as far as I can make out, there’s no mention of me.

Hans is definitely dead.

Killer …

A banging sound makes me jump, and I look back to the road. Downhill, a family with three children is getting out of a car. They jabber and shriek. My heart skitters.

What am I doing? Get up!

Leaving the folder, I scrabble to my feet. The family are heading downhill. I wait against the wall till they’re out of sight. Then I take a sharp right and bolt along the road. My shoes clomp on the tarmac. I go past the general store. Past the church. Past the guest houses. After the sign with the name of the town, the road narrows to a single lane. A rocky beach opens out to my left, and at the sight of the water my heart stops racing. I go over a stile, stray through some sheep and scale a crumbling wall. Stones tip and clack beneath my feet.

I’m here, Mary. I made it
.

Katherine, what are you doing?

I’m coming to be with you
.

Are you crazy?

I don’t know, Mary. I think I might be. Maybe I am. Yes
.

Go back, Katherine
.

Please don’t make me
.

This is madness
.

Mary. I’ve killed Rhona
.

The sea flips an’ licks around my ankles. Around my thighs.

Go backbackback go back go back. ack. ack
.

So cold around my waist. Feet slide on weeds. My hand stings. And I’m sorry. I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.

32

‘Are you all right?’ asks Tim.

I shake my head.

His feet walk away. Minutes later he returns and delivers a plastic cup into my hands. Hot chocolate. We share this while I get myself together. Then Tim tugs my hand and we’re off again. This time we go upstairs and find a spot by a glass wall. We huddle there on the floor till our backs get tired. After that we lie down. My bruises hurt. I’m terrified about tomorrow and don’t know how to tell Tim I can’t go home. But Tim’s already done so much. I can’t expect him to babysit me forever.